Ramblings of a badly aged Baby Boomer who went from Rebel Without a Cause to Bozo Without a Clue in, seemingly, the same afternoon.

Friday, June 3, 2016

I Wrote this a Couple of Years Ago

Just the other night I was in a place I hadn't visited since I was 17. Without checking the odometer too closely, let's just say it's been a while and while your mileage may vary, mine never wavers. It's been so long I couldn't even tell you when the business location changed so I'm surprised the decor seemed so familiar.

Oh yeah, I forgot. It was my dream vice a shared reality. I was sitting in Boyd's Chemists having a grilled cheese sammich and a fountain-drawn cherry coke when I became engaged in what, as I recall it from a distance of three nights' time, was a heated discussion with former State of Kansas Senator Bob Dole.

We were sitting side by side at the lunch counter. The booths were packed as I recall; no idea why unless it was a Tuesday in the dream because that's when Boyd's always had open-faced meatloaf sandwiches that were to die for. We were sitting on swivel stools bolted to the floor, with the half-backs that come up to just about your shoulder blades (if you're my height) or to the back of your head if you're Verne Troyer.

I guess I'm showing my age when I confess I don't clearly remember what the Senator and I were arguing about (it had something to do with Richard Nixon and that's the best I can do on that; pity we don't have tape. Small joke.) but my recollection is still clear enough that we seemed really fuzzy about the root cause even in the middle of the argument in which we were loudly engaged.

Does it help if I distinctly recollect we continued to eat and even in the heat of the moment I recall asking the Senator if he were going to eat those incredible bread and butter pickle slices (always three on the plate alongside the sammich, edges touching) that Boyd's put on every entree. He was gracious enough to let me help myself.

Upon awakening and realizing it had been only a dream (those pickle slices were sort of the giveaway) I was inspired to do some research on dreams. I won't bore you with my findings or surprise you with my lack of scholarship but in light of what I learned, I did wonder if I had already forgotten the other lunch guests I might have quarreled with, perhaps over dessert.

I can clearly see Senator Dole in a dark-blue-but-not-quite-Navy-blue suit with a tie I recognized as being a Jerry Garcia design, because I, too, have the exact same one. I'm wondering if Mr. Dole knew we had similar tastes in neckwear. Perhaps that's why he let me have the pickles, despite our deep philosophic differences.

My only takeaway from all of this is perhaps I (okay, and Senator Dole) should be considered subjects for a statue someplace as an example of how to disagree without being disagreeable. Actually, that would be why he could be in the statue; the jury is still out on why I'd be included. I'm unsure if he was in my dream or I in his. And I've developed an interest in Republican cloth coats, and, of all things, jowls. -bill kenny

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About Me

I am Mrs. Kenny's oldest son. I used to say 'favorite' but Mom requested I stop because of liability concerns in connection with truth in advertising laws.

You'd think in six decades of life here on the Big Blue Marble I could easily type 1200 characters about myself but no joy! Pathetic, right? Let me note, together with the love of my life, that I live in The Rose of New England, Norwich, Connecticut, where I am tolerated (I suspect) because there's no consensus yet on where to hide the body when push finally comes to shove.